Okay, I'm convinced that the laptop computer was designed by a woman.... a woman like me, who loved to take long luxurious baths, and who liked to snuggle in soft flannel sheets and big fluffy feather duvets. Because here I am, sitting in bed propped up by four pillows, wearing my Warm Softies (clothing I would never, ever leave the house in -- someone else I know calls these "body slippers"), being serenaded by Slab, my faithful laptop who, like the best butler, can play me

This is getting out of hand. Really, I need, like, a little recorder or something, like gross '80's businessmen or junior college professors use, to make notes to myself when I get an idea. I keep forming blog entries in my mind in some random place, getting to where I can see it take shape, then thinking, "Oh, I'll remember it for later." Of course I seldom do. When the time comes to recall the filed information, my brain goes, "oh, I'm sorry, was there something in that spa